By Jovit D. Caballero

This is a story of a father who didn’t have much, but gave everything. Someone who rarely had enough, but somehow always offered more. This is the story of a man who ran on low fuel but stayed lit—long enough to light the way for those who came after him.

Mario Garcia, 58, is a General Asset Supervisor under Supply Chain Management Central, originally from Olongapo City. He was raised by a hardworking fish vendor mother and a father who worked as a kristo—a bet handler in cockfighting arenas. The seventh of ten siblings, Mario recalls a stable, middle-class upbringing. Despite the large family, they lived comfortably—having a television at home, which, at the time, was a clear marker of a decent and dignified life.

With both parents constantly working—his mother at the market before sunrise and his father immersed in the noisy world of cockfights and late-night drinking—the children were mostly left to raise themselves. In a house full of siblings, attention was somewhat divided, not given. But the absence of close parental presence left wounds they didn’t always speak of.

One of those wounds never healed: their youngest sibling died from heart complications. The loss lingered like a silence in the home, a reminder of what slipped through the cracks. Still, life carried on. There was laughter, play, and moments of joy—but always with the ache of what was missing.

During his years at Olongapo City Elementary School, Mario was known as a quiet and disciplined student. Some of that came from fear—of strict teachers, of the rigid discipline that echoed the Martial Law era they were growing up in. But much of it was simply who he was. He avoided social activities like sports and school programs—not out of fear or insecurity, but because he felt most at ease beside his siblings. In a world that often felt uncertain, their presence was his comfort zone, his constant.

Mario’s time at Olongapo National High School was far more memorable. He began stepping out of his shell—joining school activities, engaging in social events, and often representing his class in Math and Science quiz bees. But as he and his siblings grew older, so did their awareness of certain absences. Emotions deepened, and so did the longing for presence. It was during this time that Mario began to truly feel the weight of his parents’ demanding schedules. At school events where families gathered—recognition days, performances, open houses—his parents were rarely there. Their absence wasn’t out of neglect, but necessity. Still, for a growing boy, it left a quiet ache that even achievements couldn’t fully fill.

College was a steep hill for Mario—not just because of the financial strain, but because there was little precedent. Among ten siblings, only the eldest had attempted college, but even that journey was cut short. The rest either settled for a high school diploma and took on work, or started families of their own. For many, that was enough. But for Mario, it wasn’t a dead end—it was fuel. What might have discouraged others only pushed him harder. He saw the gap not as a barrier, but as a challenge. The dream of being the first in the family to earn a degree became his fire. Not just for himself, but to bring pride and possibility to rewrite what was possible for his family.

Mario pushed himself to the edge while pursuing a BS Accountancy degree at Columban College. While others spent their summers relaxing or traveling, he enrolled in summer classes, determined to graduate ahead of schedule. In 1988, he proudly earned his degree and began searching for work immediately.

His first opportunity came as an Overseas Filipino Worker (OFW), taking a job as a laborer in a local bakery in Saudi Arabia. While the new environment offered its own kind of growth, the loneliness of being far from home was a quiet kind of torment. Living alone in a foreign land, disconnected from his family, took its toll. After three long years abroad, the weight of distance became too heavy—he returned to the Philippines, hoping to rebuild a life closer to the people he loved.

Mario’s first few months of job hunting back in the Philippines were difficult—it took nearly six months before he finally landed a position. Still, he saw that time as a well-earned rest after years of working overseas. His first job was as a factory worker in a clothing and apparel company within the Subic Bay Metropolitan Authority (SBMA), where he stayed for a year. Soon after, he was hired by the First Philippine Infrastructure Development Corporation (FPIDC) as an administrative personnel under the construction project of the Subic Freeport Expressway (SFEX), marking a significant shift in his career path toward infrastructure and logistics.

During his time at FPIDC, Mario was introduced to Lyn—his future wife—through his sister-in-law, who was Lyn’s coworker. Lyn, originally from Manila, was living in Olongapo City and working as a factory supervisor. Their connection quickly grew, and around the same time FPIDC was acquired by the MVP Group, Mario and Lyn tied the knot. He was 27 years old when they got married, marking the beginning of a new chapter in both his personal and professional life.

As FPIDC transitioned to Tollways Management Corporation—and later merged into NLEX Corporation—Mario stepped into a new role as an HR Specialist. He was assigned to oversee operations at both the Subic Freeport Expressway (SFEX) and the Subic–Clark–Tarlac Expressway (SCTEX), laying the foundation for a stable and meaningful career in the toll road industry.

Two years into their marriage, Mario and Lyn were blessed with their first daughter, Ella. A year later, their second daughter, Maris, was born—completing a small, joyful family that became the heart of Mario’s purpose and perseverance. In them, he found new strength. His daughters became the fuel that reignited his fire—the most precious reason to keep going, even on the hardest days.

Life was relatively comfortable during Ella and Maris’s childhood and teenage years. But everything changed when they entered college. Mario and Lyn—who by then had fully dedicated herself to being a full-time housewife—were determined to give their daughters the best education possible. They worked hard to send both girls to St. Louis University in Baguio City: Ella pursued Industrial Engineering, while Maris took up Entrepreneurship.

It was a proud milestone, but also a heavy burden. The costs—tuition fees, house rentals, daily living expenses—quickly piled up, far exceeding what Mario’s regular salary could cover. Financial strain became a constant presence. Yet Mario didn’t waver. Driven by love and the belief that one day it would all be worth it, he turned to every available option—taking out loans from NLEX, government agencies, and even relatives—to keep his daughters in school.

There were moments when giving up seemed like the only option. But Mario knew he wasn’t just providing for them—he was setting the example. So he pushed harder and made sure he continued to excel at work. In 2019, all the sacrifices finally bore fruit. Both Ella and Maris graduated from college and secured decent jobs—just in time, before the pandemic would bring the world to a standstill.

Mario’s life wasn’t defined by how much he had, but by how far he went with so little. Every setback became fuel. Every challenge, a reason to push harder. He turned his sacrifices into lasting impact—not through wealth or recognition, but through grit and determination. His journey is proof that even when you have minimal means but carry maximum will, the fire can stay lit—even when life runs low. And sometimes, the brightest lights come from those who learned to burn slow, steady, and strong — refueled by love, resilience, and the quiet, relentless desire to keep their family moving forward.

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